


The Valley of Death

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [99]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Don't copy to another site, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: Each second that past only made the buzzing energy beneath his skin worse, the claustrophobia of his own home squeezing the air from his lungs, the tangled mess that was his head screaming at him from all sides. His free hand had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter as he forced himself to breath normally, staring unblinkingly as the room was plunged into darkness.





	The Valley of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Finally starting to feel like I got my groove back :)

   Tony knew what kind of night it was going to be before the sun even set. He watched from his place leaning against the island counter, as it sunk behind the skyline of buildings, sipping at his scotch.

   Each second that past only made the buzzing energy beneath his skin worse, the claustrophobia of his own home squeezing the air from his lungs, the tangled mess that was his head screaming at him from all sides. His free hand had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter as he forced himself to breath normally, staring unblinkingly as the room was plunged into darkness.

   He set the glass down with a loud clank and was already heading for the door without a thought for the weather outside, simply slipping on the same light jacket he had been using for months now and all but fleeing the Tower. He took the stairs, needing the movement, unable to stand waiting in the elevator, having already made that mistake before.

   As he descended into the lobby, he only paused long enough to run his hands over his wrists, a physical reminder of his access to the suit that the nanotech did not provide. A glance down showed a green light, indicating Friday’s presence and with a deep breath, practically ran out the front doors.

   Tony no longer had to think about his route, taking a sharp right and heading in the general direction of the park that was always abandoned by this time yet still held some illumination from a few old, rickety streetlamps.

   The fresh air was all that he hoped it would be as he inhaled deeply, ignoring the sting of chilly fall air. Already there was a thin layer of frost creeping along the pavement of the sidewalk, slicing through his thin pants and jacket, but he couldn’t stop moving. He tucked his hands into his pockets, ducked his head despite the fact it would do nothing to save him and focused on each step that carried him further and further away.

   Gradually, after two blocks, the claustrophobic feeling began to ease, aided by the nearly empty streets, his mind calming as the sensations of his body stole all his attention, driving away the memories trying to haunt him.

   It used to be impossible to see the streets of New York this empty just past the setting of the sun, but a lot of things had changed since the Snap and everyone’s subsequent return. Tony knew it wouldn’t last forever, human memory was short, and this newfound urge to spend time with loved ones over shopping or work, the unfounded fear of the dark and loss, would give way to the priorities of daily life and a world that kept spinning. Tony intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

  It had been nearly six months since then. It never felt like it and Tony wondered if it was because, unlike the rest of the world, it felt like they, him and the Avengers, were still drowning from it. Sometimes it felt like it was only these moments, these late-night strolls, that kept him going, calmed the madness in his head long enough to pretend for another day.

   A hard shiver went up his spine, but he simply grit his teeth, determined to bare it, even as the tips of his ears began to burn and his toes had gone numb. He had survived a lot lately and he’d be damned if a bit of cold deprived him of this too, besides, he was nearly there.

   Peering though watery eyes at the abandoned streets he spotted the telltale sign that the park was just up ahead, the street lamps shifting from their piercing white to warm orange hues. He forced himself to speed up, heart beating harder in his chest just like it always did as the first tall white stone began to make itself known.

   He was nearly there when he stopped suddenly, pulled up short by the horrible sense of wrong that travelled through him at the sight. The park was dotted with benches, worn and falling apart in the decrepit area, and on his bench, the one he sat on every night for nearly an hour, was occupied by a shadowed figure.

   Tony approached slowly, felt something like anger stir within him. It was his bench and he was determined to sit on it, no matter who was already there. Perhaps it was childish but after everything Tony had done, endured, it only seemed right he be allowed to sit where he wanted.

   Yet, Tony would never be so lucky as for some random stranger to be sitting here in the frigid night air. As he got closer, the first thing he recognized was the vibrant red sitting on broad shoulder, making his heart give a painful squeeze. By the time he was standing just behind it, there was no mistaking the wave of hair, the grey streaks, the aura of powerful calm. Tony was sure his heart could be heard from there, if not that then the chattering of his teeth, but still the man said nothing.

   Distantly, Tony wondered if this wasn’t a hallucination. He’d suffered through quite a few in the month following and this wouldn’t be the craziest thing he had dreamed up. The thing was, he hadn’t seen Strange in nearly five months, since the man had dutifully cared for his damaged, charred hand, guided him with a measured voice back to the land of the living and sanity, before abruptly disappearing from the Avengers and the world alike.

   He had been angry, of course he had. Not only because the man refused to answer his questions but because he had seemed fine, unaffected by the trauma that he had essentially bestowed upon all of them. He had daydreamed constantly of what he would say, how he would yell and scream for explanations, how he might even beg. Tony had even gone so far as to stand outside that damned museum of his but was never brave enough to use the knocker.

   Perhaps the worst part if it all, however, was the aching knowledge that he missed this man. He heard that voice in his dreams more often then he could count, comforting him and beyond on that, he missed the fact that the one man who had understood everything…had known and seen it all wasn’t _there_.

   But now he was here.

   “Are you going to sit?”

   His tone was calm, genuinely curious. Tony felt like crying.

   Rounding the bench, feet tapping nearly silent against the gravel, he sat with a creak of the bench barely an inch away from the man. Staring at his profile he was shocked to see the exhaustion lining his face, the slump in those shoulders, the way those trembling hands gripped his knees tightly.

   That was all the proof he needed. The reason he hadn’t knocked on Stephen’s door all those times, he had known, deep down, that as bad as he hurt, it had nothing on the pain and sorrow Stephen Strange endured on that planet.

   Stephen’s head turned minutely, eyes glancing over him, “cold?”

   Tony shrugged, intimately aware that his legs had gone numb and his face about the same. Strange looked forward again, those fingers twitched with intent this time and suddenly Tony felt a wave of warmth wash over him, like he was being embraced in a hug.

  Instinct had him wanting to retreat from the show of magic, but he stifled it, “thanks.”

   Strange inclined his head.

   It quickly became obvious that he had no intention of continuing with conversation and usually Tony was all for that. He survived his days in almost entire silence but for Friday and occasionally Pepper, especially since their split, but whenever someone asked about Avengers business it was suddenly grating, almost worse then the basic pleasantries being exchanged. Yet, inexplicably, Tony found himself wanting to talk, craving interaction, companionship in a sudden wave of longing.

   It was so refreshing, so new, that he had to physically stop himself from rushing forward with questions and words and observations, it was like a kickstart to his brain that had been painfully dull and numb these past few months and he found himself marvelling at Stephen.

   He swallowed it back, “I haven’t seen you around in awhile.”

   He said it because it was true, because he missed him, because he hated it.

   Stephen shrugged a little, “I’ve been working, several creatures thought they would try their chances on a weakened earth.”

   It was what Tony had been expecting but it didn’t make him feel any less disappointed. He was surprised, however, when Stephen tilted his head back, looking up at the stars and light imprint of the milky way, barely visible from all the light pollution.

   “Its eerie, isn’t it?” he murmured.

   “The stars?”

   “The stars, the streets, its like we haven’t fixed anything.”

   Tony’s breath caught painfully in his chest as his eyes began to sting, shivers moving through him that had nothing to do with the cold. When Stephen suddenly looked down to meet his gaze, it was to see a small, sad smile and an agony reflected in his eyes that almost made Tony sob with relief, with gratitude, with _affection._

   They always asked, with varying levels of concern, _Tony why are you going out a night? You know its not really safe, even as Iron Man_ , or worst of all; _I’m worried about you._ Yet, Stephen Strange, with one simple sentence, just knew, understood exactly why Tony came out here nearly every night, why it had become an impossible to resist impulse.

   The empty streets, the dirtied earth, the large white memorial stones with names carved in, felt exactly like it did when he returned to a decimated earth, its life-blood having been taken in one foul swoop of broken hearts and broken families. They had fixed it, he had fixed it, but it still hurt like he hadn’t.

  When he couldn’t keep his head above water anymore, when the nightmares got too bad, when he began drinking a little too much alcohol again, when he forgot why he had done it in the first place, why it all hurt, he came here, walked the streets and reminded himself that if he had done nothing, the pain would be for _nothing._

   He was suffering and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever stop but at least this reminded him that there was a reason for it.

   Trembling fingers slipped beneath his own and Tony found himself staring into Strange’s eyes and for the first time, finding himself saying, with a _conviction_ that was hard won, “thank you.”

   There was no need to clarify or explain, no expectation of further words as they settled more firmly on the bench, it was just them and the shared memory of a desolate planet, a mad Titan, and a promise.

_There was no other way._

  Tony listened to the sounds of nature as it grew later, the whistling of the breeze, the shaking of the leaves, the scurrying of squirrels, and fell asleep unashamedly on Stephen’s shoulder, tucked into his warmth and his Cloak, secure in the realization, the understanding, that he wasn’t alone, that he wouldn’t be anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Always love to hear what people think!


End file.
